Butterbeers Warm December Souls
by coffee-stained lips
Summary: Neville buys Pansy a Butterbeer, but her thank you says so much more. Oneshot. /Month One/


**Long time no see? Uh-huh. So…I return with **_**this**_**, and not Draco/Hermione? Well, I enjoy these two as well, and have wanted to write them more since I never did before. Anyway, on my return: I suddenly got addicted to **_**Potter**_** again in October, and have held on for as long as possible. I don't wanna let go again! With **_**Deathly Hallows: Part 1**_** coming, I figured it'd be appropriate to mark my return today. I hope anyone who likes my HP stories (though I'm certainly not as good as others on here [or JK Rowling]) will forgive me! As an important footnote, in order to conjure new ideas, I'm making myself write a one-shot with different months. Obviously, this is December. They may not come monthly, but I'll try to get them clustered together. And they won't always be the same couples or years—just whatever I feel like, you know? :-) So…****Month: December; Ship: Pansy/Neville.**** Enjoy.**

The gracious village of Hogsmeade resembled a picturesque Muggle holiday card at wintertime. The rooftops were topped with piles of snow, and flakes still bombarded the streets. Tinsel, mistletoe, and various other Christmassy plants interwove on the windows of the shops, and decorations were enchanted to wish happy holiday greetings and give out delectable cookies. All the products were tinged red and green too—Scrivenshaft's even had festive quills.

Neville quite enjoyed visiting Hogsmeade during the early snowfalls of December. The merriment left him feeling, ironically enough, jolly. He spent a good deal of Christmastime with his parents and gran at St. Mungo's, but it was a nice getaway with Hogwarts friends when all the toils of life grew much too strenuous.

With knowledge of the dreadful happenings at Hogwarts and in the rest of the Wizarding world, however, even the merry sight of Hogsmeade wasn't comforting. Somewhere Ron, Hermione, and Harry were fighting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's forces, or maybe the very man himself (Neville inwardly shuddered). Ginny rarely spoke of the prospect, and when Luna did she said only positive things, though none of the comments helped much. They were shocked they were allowed to go into Hogsmeade at all under the tyrants' rules, but they held tight to the little thread of normality that was quickly getting shorter.

Luna had pulled Ginny into Spintwitches to hopefully yank the Weasley girl out of her funk, leaving Neville alone. He understood the anxiety Ginny must've been under with having her boyfriend gone, and so he quietly forgave the desertion as he entered the Three Broomsticks. It wasn't as happy inside as it was out; despite the cheery aura the wreaths on the windows gave off, there was a sparse number of customers in the pub, and those that were there appeared sullen and quite drunk. Madam Rosmerta peered over at the gawky seventh-year curiously as she wiped down the counter.

"Neville Longbottom, I presume," she said with melancholic eyes, "Haven't had a drink here for a good, long time. You old enough for Firewhiskey yet?"

"Erm, I'd rather have a Butterbeer, please." Neville squeaked. The bartender nodded.

"Alright then." she said, "Be up in a jiff, boy." Neville went to sit at a nearby table, far away from one patron who was clumsily downing his beverage. The warmth of the tavern was welcomed by his frigid body, and he unraveled the Gryffindor scarf from around his neck. His cheeks glowed a rosy red, and he inelegantly proceeded to wipe his nose using his sleeve.

With no one to converse with, Neville took a look around the pub: along with the depressed, and intoxicated, customers there were Hogwarts students of all ages except eleven and twelve, and all Houses. None were very close friends with him, but familiar faces did dot the perimeter. Zacharias Smith, for one, with his other distasteful Hufflepuff comrades; Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas, both happily sucking on their bottles of Firewhiskey; a few Ravenclaw girls of fourth-year he knew by face only were talking as animatedly as they could muster; Neville looked away quickly when he caught sight of three Slytherins who disliked him as much as he feared them. Most of the patrons who came from Hogwarts were with companions unlike Neville, which left him with a hollow feeling.

Madam Rosmerta came over soon after he'd surveyed the entire pub, a hot mug of Butterbeer in hand. Neville thanked her and paid, and she gave him a smile that more so resembled a pitiful grimace. Neville's ice-cold insides embraced the warm rush of Butterbeer, and the taste was enough to keep him from taking a stop to breathe. Unfortunately for his tongue and stomach, his brain commanded air, and so he pulled the mug from his lips.

Neville strained to see outside the window for a flash of red and white-blond hair, but the frost coating said window made it difficult. He would've felt better having his female companions to cheer him up, or at least to feel sorrowful with. He took another sip of Butterbeer, but the taste was less delicious this time.

"You idiots ought to be hanged by your toes!" shouted someone suddenly. Neville's head whipped up to catch those at the Slytherin table in a row. Pansy Parkinson was whom the voice belonged to, and her pug-faced expression matched her tone perfectly.

"And I reckon you should have your mouth taped up!" hissed Crabbe, who was across the table, standing and crossing his arms.

"Yeah, at least we're _trying_," Goyle countered, "whereas you just sit like a perfect princess—"

"As if." Crabbe interjected, and a wave of shock washed over Pansy's face. "Let's get out of here." And so the two bulky boys went to leave, but not before Pansy jumped to her feet, wand in hand, and screamed "_Anteoculatia!_" Instantly antlers began to form on Crabbe and Goyle's heads, despite their attempts to hide them with their silver-and-emerald scarves. They left the pub embarrassed and Pansy was kicked out soon after by Madam Rosmerta.

Neville cowered in his spot, and his hands shook as he held his mug. Soon the rest of the patrons went back to their conversations and drinking. Neville tried to drink from his glass, but found he couldn't. The small fight and spell-casting had grown too much for his well-worn nerves, and so he left the Three Broomsticks with his mug still in hand.

Upon departing, he was startled to catch Pansy sitting on the stairs, bundled up in her robes and winter attire. Her head was encased by her arms, but he could hear small sobs coming from her chest. It unsettled Neville to the point he was red-faced and almost running back inside; Pansy wasn't the type of girl to cry—she was more the type to hex you should you do her wrong (as she had to her companions), and seeing that otherworldly characteristic shine in her was strange, albeit relieving. Neville was almost sympathetic, but memories of sinister remarks and uncomfortable hexes knocked fear back into his brain. However, such a piteous sight was it to see that Neville sacrificed his wellbeing to sit beside Pansy on the stone-cold steps.

"What do you want, Longbottom?" she asked nastily as soon as he deposited himself there. Neville wanted to leave then, but then she may continue crying, and at least having him there to bash would keep the tears at bay.

"No one should cry at Christmastime." he answered. Pansy sneered at him, but her eyes were simply suppressing relief. Neville knew somebody like her wouldn't be thankful right off the bat—he only hoped he could stand the minutes of cruelty that were to come. He nervously held out his bottle of Butterbeer. "Would you like this? You look, um, cold."

"Like I want your filthy backwash," Pansy said. He retracted the bottle, but caught Pansy licking her lips thirstily.

"I can get you one, if you want another—"

"Longbottom, what are you, stalking me?" Pansy accused, "Can't you run it by that owl pellet-sized brain that I am annoyed by you?" She raised one delicately trimmed eyebrow and pursed her lips, which was a sign she would turn from irritated to evilly clever. "I suppose you're just desperate for a woman outside that loony bird and ragged ginger." Neville sighed at the insults directed towards Luna and Ginny; any other time he may've blushed scarlet and stumbled away, or even choked out a riposte, but now that everything was changing with the war, it was just another battle he cared not to have.

"I just don't think you should be sad at Christmas." he said, "But I get I'm not helping you—really, why would I…so, goodbye." He awkwardly rose to his feet and tried to make a swift departure, but the slippery ice tripped him, making him lurch forward. It was humiliating, but he simply picked himself up and went again. However, Pansy stopped him before he could get away (or fall another time).

"Why?" she said; her tone wasn't incensed, or mean—instead it was questioning. "I'd think you Gryffindors would find my unhappiness amusing." Neville turned, and his expression was one of utmost surprise.

"Pansy…in times like these, there's no use for social problems. All that matters is your opinion of You-Know-Who. If we're on the same side, great. If not, not good. But overall, getting petty amusement out of your cruddy holiday isn't on my list of worries. Besides, even if it were last year, it's not nice to do that." Pansy had obviously not expected such an answer; her face was scrunched in a look of bemusement as she mulled over his words. Neville waited for an answer, and turned away when one didn't come, but Pansy stopped him before he could get away.

"Get me a Butterbeer," she demanded, "Y'know, should the offer still be on the table. It isn't gentlemanly to retract an offer like that, right?" Neville found this too shocking, but purely shook his head and followed Pansy inside. Madam Rosmerta didn't notice the return of the delinquent, and Pansy kept it so as she swiftly went to a table that kept her back to the woman. Neville retrieved another Butterbeer and went over to her, whose scarf was concealing her mouth.

"I doubt she'll call the dogs on you for being back." Neville smirked, though Pansy was unnerved at the mention of having "dogs called on her". She took the glass from the boy without so much as a thank you, and graciously swallowed a healthy dosage of the creamy beverage. Neville spun his liquid around with one fuzzy finger of a glove.

"So where are Weaslette and Loony?" Pansy asked.

"Shopping," he replied, still paying more attention to his butterscotch drink than her. "What…uh, what was that about, with…Cr-Crabbe and Goyle?" Pansy stiffened at the reminder, and ceased to drink her Butterbeer.

"None of your—Malfoy. That's what we were discussing." Neville was grateful she decided to tell him outright instead of covering it up with an unkind statement. His brown eyes scanned her darker ones, and she sighed. "He's really…under the weather, let's put it that way—and they're mad at me for not being as 'supportive' and 'helpful' as I could be. I love him, but it…it's not enough in these times." With that Pansy again began to cry, though the tears came slowly as she prevented them from spilling. Neville took off his glove and placed his icy fingers on hers. She looked at him, and jumped at the temperature of his body, but kept a cool head; despite her steely-eyed gaze, Neville sensed the appreciation at his trying.

"Actually, love is _really_ helpful now." he said, "Maybe not at first, but friendships and relationships grow in dark times. Ginny and Luna tell me stuff now I couldn't have dreamed up in the past years, and my gran sends me owls every day 'stead of once a week. But, people grow apart—Malfoy may not be someone who'll keep you strong in these times." Pansy knew he was speaking the truth, yet she compensated with humor to mask the seriousness.

She laughed. "And who will be—_you_?"

"I'll help anyone," he responded, "Besides, Malfoy ever buy you a Butterbeer?" Pansy grinned.

"No." A pause. "I guess that owes a thank you." It was his turn to grin.

"You're welcome."

"I didn't say 'thank you'—I said I should. Pay attention, Longbottom." He only continued grinning idiotically with his rather big teeth at her, and stroking her fingertips with his own.

"Well, it's there whenever you wanna say it." She shrugged, and the two went back to their drinks (which had grown lukewarm). Neither paid full attention to their beverages, but conversation had fizzed out awhile ago so that it was now awkward. Neville felt the burn of Dean and Seamus' stares in the back of his head at spotting him with Pugsy Parkinson. He dared not see their accusing faces, so he began to jumpstart a discussion with Pansy when he heard Ginny's voice shouting his name.

"S'pose the ginger is impatient with you." Pansy stated, taking a healthy swig of her mug.

"I'm just glad I have a friend." He hadn't meant for it to come out hurtful (though that effect had been initiated already), and he quickly snapped tight his lips as she gazed down at her bottle. "I-I didn't—"

"Thank you." She looked up with her dark, tear-swelled eyes. She offered up a diplomatic smile, conveying peace between them. He was startled, but allowed another smile to grace his own mouth. Instead of a "you're welcome" (since he'd already given that gift), he waved bye even as Ginny's shrill shriek invaded his ears. Pansy waved daintily back, and Neville departed into the December air feeling much warmer than the last time he'd stepped out. Even if his Christmas present to her was physically a bottle, it contained much value, and both knew she'd cherish it.


End file.
